Opinion pieces, travel articles, places and people; lots of poetry; commentary on current events and history and whatever else shows up on the radar. Articles have been numbered (since Sept. 2004). Go n-eiri an t-adh leat.

The shades are falling, calling,
Down from the mountains, Billy:
No more do the wild trumpets ringSin le bás in Éirinn ina ghlóir … onóir!
We have lost again, lost everything,
Sweet Billy, Oh … sweet Billy!

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Rain rain crash down on this hard old city
Where there is no love, where there is no pity.
Send down each drop like a hammer blow
To beat on the heads of the people below.
Turn over hoardings, throw down the turnstiles,
Shatter everything, all, for a hundred miles!
Send glass shards, jagged, straight in their eyes,
And laugh and laugh when they show surprise!
End up as as quickly as you’ve begun
Then swoop up swiftly to the sun.

Wait, wait, then, for another day.

The populace, the people, huddle below,
Trembling in shock, all think they know
There has to be, must be, a logical reason.
(All dissidents stand accused of treason.)
Lambs slaughtered, a wild cacophony of prayers
Lift up, skyswirling, in piteous layers.

Wait, wait, wait, for another day.

Tension subsides: there are services, dead are buried.
The life of the town picks up yet people are worried.
Can I go to the market, Dada? Get back to your room!
Step out of that door, child, you'll walk to your doom.
Nobody knows. Nobody knows. Nobody knows for sure.
If I live a good life, stop the nonsense, try to be pure?

The gods live beyond the clouds.
They live behind the sun.
Impenetrable.

They play desultory games,
Sleeping, now and then,
With one another’s wives.